


Crescent

by GingerEl



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Body Horror, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Mild Gore, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Prompto Argentum is a Ray of Sunshine, Vampire Ignis Scientia, Werewolf Prompto Argentum, potential:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerEl/pseuds/GingerEl
Summary: Prompto's always been interested in the paranormal, he's always wanted to find it, to see it, to experience it. Investigating a hot-tip that sends him to an old estate on the outskirts of the city doesn't go quite hoe he'd planned."So I have to do that every full moon?”“At first yes. Though I understand as you learn to control it and your body adjusts it’ll become easier. Less painful. Other lycans I know look forward to it.”“Huh. Cool,” Prompto murmurs.The room is silent for a moment. Then -“But I’m cute right? A cute dog?”Alternatively: Ignis has dealt with a lot of things in his long life. But nothing quite like this. Nothing quite like Prompto.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	1. Prompto

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phomarciam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phomarciam/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful [phomarciam](https://twitter.com/phomarciam) who asked me to write him some werewolf!Prom and vamp!Iggy. I had the MOST fun with this and, as usual when that happens, it really got away from me.

[Noct ☕ 20:21] please don’t die

[Noct ☕ 20:23] also tell me where you’re going so if you don’t turn up for work tomorrow i know where to look for your body

[Prompto 20:25] you worry too much

[Prompto 20:26] going in to stealth mode now

[Noct ☕ 20:27] what does that even mean dude

[Prompto 20:28] 🚫📱🚫

Prompto doesn’t come to this part of town much.

Or ever.

He lives in a two room apartment above a fast food place that, admittedly, sells amazing curly fries but somehow fills his apartment from about four in the afternoon until two in the morning with the smell of old oil via the air vent in his bathroom.

People out here have _gardens_. Not just gardens but _land_ \- entire acres of it surrounding two or three story houses made of bricks and stone with attics and basements full of family heirlooms.

Prompto’s not one hundred percent sure about the family heirlooms but he’d be willing to bet all of the thirty-two crowns in his bank account on it.

It’s his first day not working late at the coffee shop all week, the first time he’s had opportunity to follow up on the _hot-tip_ he’d pulled from a forum at three am last Thursday.

Prompto _likes_ his job, mostly, but he likes selling the occasional photograph to the local newspaper more and likes investigating hints and rumours of the _paranormal_ even more. As of yet he’s not worked out how to make a _career_ out of the latter but he has _fun._

Between both his jobs and his ability to scrape by on a penny every day Prompto has the money he needs to run his car and maintain an _excellent_ camera. Which is all he really needs, Prompto hopes, to one day unearth _something_ living right here in Insomnia.

The last tip left by the person Prompto’s following up on tonight had landed him in hospital - six stitches on his hairline and a wicked concussion after he toppled through a rickety banister - so he understands why everyone else had said it was _ridiculous_. And maybe they’re right? Why _would_ a vampire be living all the way out here, _miles_ away from civilisation.

From _food_.

Unless the people that own the house _are_ the food?

 _Prompto_ won’t become food. He’s sure of it.

As long as that garlic thing holds true.

The front gate is tall and imposing, exactly like something out of an old horror movie. Prompto’s thrilled but hopes the tip wasn’t based _only_ on the appearance of the gates and the driveway and the gargoyles - are those actual _gargoyles_? The gate's _locked_ , Prompto doesn’t even need to get out of the car to see that. There’s a thick chain and a rusted padlock keeping it shut tight.

Maybe it’s abandoned? Maybe _no one_ lives there at all - no one _alive_ anyway.

Prompto _loves_ vampires, they're his _favourite_. He'd give _anything_ to see one, to touch one and talk to them.

Prompto drives around the edge of the estate to where the tip suggested there would be a hole in the chain link and sure enough there it is. Fence bent back around a hole just big enough for Prompto to squeeze through with his notebook, camera and flash light clutched tight to his chest.

It’s actually kind of boring inside. It’s just _trees_. Trees and scrubby bushes and not very much else whatsoever. Prompto tries not to be disappointed.

He was hoping for a crypt or for the trees to give way quickly to rows and rows of graves or just _something_ that could confirm what he thought - _hoped._ Something to confirm that a _vampire_ lives here.

But then he finds it, almost completely hidden behind thick brambles and small trees, so short and skinny the barely count.

The building is small and square, built of large boring grey bricks with a slightly ramshackle roof. It’s also empty, absolutely nothing inside, but a discarded jacket and an old axe.

Prompto convinces himself that this is _fine_ , to be _expected_ even because if a vampire really _does_ make their home here then they wouldn’t be here now at _night_ time would they? They'd be off hunting. Prompto forces himself to leave the building, knowing it won’t do to be right here when they return, it would be _rude_ if nothing else to just be standing around in someone’s - _some thing’s_ \- home when they get home.

Finding somewhere to settle is easy enough. Prompto walks away from the building following a path set in by a fallen tree and stamps down a few ferns at the far end of it to make a spongy place for him to sit. He feels hidden here, _safe_ , but with a direct line of sight to the dilapidated building. Relaxing as much as he can, Prompto flicks through his little book of notes and thoughts to amuse himself as he begins what might be a lengthy wait.

The problem, of course, is that Prompto’s not exactly _patient_.

What feels like an hour turns out to be only twenty minutes when he checks the time on his phone.

There’s no harm in exploring, right?

Maybe he should find some proof in case he doesn’t actually _see_ the vampire?

Prompto hefts himself back up to his feet, folding his notebook over so it’ll fit into the pocket of his jeans and moves off in a way he hopes leaves him with a wide berth from the main house.

Prompto doesn’t know anything about the people that own it but he suspects they won’t take too kindly to his presence.

Its just _bushes_ and trees. There’s _nothing_ of interest other than the little building. No animal carcasses to suggest the monster is forced to eat here - Prompto tries not to consider what that implies, good _or_ bad. Prompto takes pictures as he goes, lighting up areas with his flash light to see if his lens catches anything his eyes do not and taking other shots without and simply trusting his settings to pick up anything that might be there.

There’s a wide flat stone on the ground, clearly formed by human intervention but unmarked as Prompto can see. He starts to turn it over with his foot when he hears it.

A _rustle_ of leaves.

A branch _cracks_ and Prompto hears _breath_ , wet and ragged and horrible.

Prompto whirls round, trying to stay calm but all but _gasping_ for breath.

His flash-light flickers out.

“Hello?” Prompto calls, voice trembling.

Something growls, low and rumbling -

 _Pain_ sears across his forearm, sharp and intense and with enough force to knock him clear off his feet. Prompto cries out as he falls, dropping his camera and his flash light to the ground to cradle his arm to his chest.

It _hurts_ and when he presses his other hand against the wound his fingers touch soft, wet flesh at once, his jacket and sweater torn by whatever struck him.

He’s bleeding. A sluggish pulse he can’t see but can feel against the pad of his fingers well enough.

Prompto can’t stay here. Not now. Not _bleeding_ in what might be the home of a vampire. Not defenceless against whatever animal had felt threatened enough by his presence to attack him.

It’s gone now, that much is clear. The air and trees around him completely still.

Prompto pushes up onto his knees awkwardly without his arms, shaking with adrenaline and the rush of fear but not wanting to relieve the pressure on his wound until absolutely necessary.

He waits, half expecting to be attacked again but nothing happens. Thirty seconds, a minute, _two_ minutes pass and nothing happens, not even the renewed stirring of leaves.

Prompto gets up to his feet.

It’s time he got out of here.

\- - -

His arm looks kind of _mostly_ fine in the morning.

The wound is still open and he cleans off the dried blood that had appeared overnight but apart from that it’s fine. He didn’t do the best job with it last night, he _knows_ this, he never does do a very good job taking care of wounds. He nicked himself on a broken coffee cup at _Sacred Grounds_ last year and even though the wound was shorter than a quarter crown coin it had eventually landed him in the hospital.

Prompto runs late though, as he so often does but the promise of yesterday's half stale cinnamon rolls warmed in the staff microwave pushes him onward as he stumbles into his car and turns the key over _three_ times necessary for the engine to successfully rumble to life. _Eventually_ he’s going to have to get a new car but eventually he’s gonna have to do a lot of things he’s exceptionally good at ignoring for the time being.

Noct rounds on him as soon as he pushes the staff door open, leaning casually against in the open archway that leads through from staff room come kitchen into the main body of the coffee shop.

“You look _awful_ -” Noct starts but he cuts himself off abruptly. Prompto watches as his friends face goes curiously blank for a full three seconds before his nose wrinkles in distaste.

“Uh - Noct?” Prompto says, “You okay there buddy?”

“How did you get hurt?” Noct asks quickly, “Are you okay?”

Prompto shakes his wrist, trying to make sure his cuff is covering the edge of the bandage.

Funny how Noct can just _not_ notice a customer walk in for five whole minutes but can spot the edge of medical sticky tape sticking out from under Prompto’s jacket.

“I - fell,” Prompto says. It’s not a _lie_ of course, he _did_ fall. Just _after_ his arm got hurt.

“Did you go to the doctor or are you just gonna wait until gets infected again?” Noct asks.

Prompto flips him off.

Noct sighs, “At least let _me_ look.”

“I missed you graduating med-school dude? My bad,” Prompto snarks but he dutifully sheds his jacket and holds up his arm.

Noct’s hands are _cold_ and Prompto almost flinches back from him. Gods maybe his arms _isn’t_ okay. Should it be _that_ warm? Should it make Noct’s hand feel almost _painfully_ cold - or is that a sign of infection, his body burning hot to fight off whatever it is that Prompto accidentally introduced into it.

Noct scowls at him and holds tight, fingers pressing into the flesh of Prompto’s arm as he raises the other to peel back the bandage.

“Looks okay,” Noct mutters, “Looks _clean_.”

“So I can get on with my job?” Prompto asks.

Noct releases him with a shrug.

“I left a cinnamon bun in the microwave for you, offer to unload the dishwasher while you eat it and I’ll make you a coffee.”

Prompto rolls his eyes but shuffles over to the microwave. If the cinnamon bun is big enough he'll take him up on it.

But when he pops open the door to check out his snack he feels _bad_. Not guilty for being irreverent but _physically_ bad, a rolling in his stomach as the sweet scent of cinnamon hits his nose. Prompto slams the microwave shut and steps back.

“No good?” Noct guesses.

“Not today,” Prompto says and he reaches instead for his apron, tying it on around the waistband of his jeans.

“You want me to make you one of those wraps? The gross ones with the spinach and -”

Prompto thinks he might be _sick_.

Normally he _loves_ the breakfast wrap, loves the fresh spinach wilted inside it alongside the eggs and the sausage and the potatoes. But not _today_. Just the thought of slimy spinach and chopped _mushrooms_.

Maybe he has a stomach bug?

“You really do look awful,” Noct says helpfully.

“I hate you,” Prompto grumbles, “Make me a coffee.”

Noct laughs but shifts from his perch and leads Prompto out to the shop front. Their _busy_ but all the customers are settled with food and drink so Prompto just has to lean up against the counter and _wait_.

Prompto’s mostly done with his coffee - “Just plain today, Noct.” “ _Plain_? Are you dying?” - when they get their usual pre-lunch rush of college kids and harassed business men. The moment it’s over Noct comes to stand at his side.

“So did you find your vampire last night?” Noct asks. He peers closely at Prompto, playfully tugging at the collar of his shirt to get a good look at his neck. Prompto swats him away with a laugh.

“No,” Prompto admits, “I had to leave after I fell down.”

“Did you get pictures though? It was a big house, right?”

“I barely took any but I - _oh fuck_.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My camera,” Prompto says, “I dropped my camera last night.”

“You didn’t notice?” Noct asks and when Prompto scowls at him he back-pedals, “I just _mean_ \- dude it took you like two years to save up for that.”

“I _know_ ,” Prompto whines, “I need to go back and try to find it.”

“Not - not today,” Noct says, “You’re like sick or something.”

Prompto slumps against the counter.

He really _needs_ his camera.

-

Noct’s right in the end and Prompto only feels _worse_ as the day goes on. Caffeine gives him the energy he needs to get through the day but an all coffee no food diet leaves his stomach rolling and his anxiety bouncing all over the place. Noct even offers to drive him home but the idea of being _pandered_ to in such a way bothers Prompto more than he could ever put into words. He’s been on his own for as long as he can remember, he can certainly handle driving himself home despite some weird stomach bug.

Maybe it’s the _flu_.

His apartment is a _mess_. But he can’t deal with the mud caked into his favourite boots right now or the stack of dishes by his sink. Honestly the only thing he has the energy to fix is straightening his lunar calendar as he passes it. Prompto collapses onto his bed and stares up at the illustrated squares. A week until the full moon - that means the werewolf forums will be going _wild_ tonight.

Normally he _loves_ reading through them even though he has so little interest in them himself but the _hunters_ \- as they call themselves - are so _intense_ , so utterly convinced they’ve found something at every moment.

Maybe he can just have a little read on his phone. Maybe if he just _rests_ for a little while he’ll feel well enough to do - literally anything.

Prompto _needs_ to go get his camera, every moment its still out there it could be being stolen or _damp_ could be seeping in from the ground and ruining it.

Prompto _needs_ to sleep, as it turns out. And its not even nine o’clock when he passes out, curtains still open and phone dangling uselessly in his hand.

\- - -

The sun wakes him up as soon as it’s risen high enough to shine in through his window.

And he feels _fine_.

Better than fine. He feels _great_.

Prompto checks his wound, belatedly realising that he probably should have seen to it last night. But it’s good, it seems _healed_. A think pink line with no puckering or redness, nothing oozing or itching or _anything_.

Should it have healed so fast? What on earth did he do wrong last time if he should have healed like _this_?

He’s also _starving_.

There’s not a lot in his fridge but he has sausages and _bacon_. Prompto considers eggs but they don’t seem to spark any serious interest in him even though he normally _loves_ scrambling eggs for breakfast. He just cooks a little more of everything else instead.

It’s too much food, Prompto knows this as _he_ fills his apartment with the smell of fatty bacon and sausages that pop and sizzle in the pan. Probably he’ll regret eating so much later but he’s working this afternoon and if he rocks up to work in poor health _again_ Noct will probably make him turn around and go straight home.

Prompto rubs his jaw as he watches the last two rashers of bacon curl at the edges, fat crisping and meat turning opaque. It feels like he needs to _shave_. Really needs to shave even though he normally only has to once a week or so . Even then its only because he feels like he _should_ rather than any real necessity but now, three days out from his last meeting with his razor there’s hair on his face _. Thick_ hair too, rough and scratchy, nothing at all like the baby soft fuzz that normally decorates his jaw.

That’s one way to kill some time before work, he supposes.

-

It’s just dusk when Prompto pulls his car up adjacent to the same hole in the fence as before. The hole looks _bigger_ though, stretched wide and bowing out like something _huge_ had forced it's way _out_ of the estate.

Prompto has to steel himself before he can bear to climb from the car.

What is the animal attacked him is still inside?

His makeshift camp is easy to find, ferns bent and flattened to the ground where he’d sat and attempted patience. Prompto follows the trail from it to where he’d gone exploring, around the overturned tree trunk and towards the bushes that had contained the creature that had attacked him.

 _There_. It’s there.

Pitch black and half hidden beneath some dry leaves his camera is waiting for him, probably exactly where Prompto had dropped it when he'd fallen down. His flash light lays a few paces further away.

Maybe he should tell someone there’s wolves _in_ the city - he’s pretty sure there’s not supposed to be wolves inside the city borders, even in these fancy ass estates.

Prompto stoops down, fingers brushing the strap of his camera.

“What on earth is _another_ werewolf doing sneaking around my land?”


	2. Ignis

Ignis is _annoyed_.

He’s chased one werewolf this week already.

 _Gods_ knows how long they’d made a home on his land before he’d realised. Perhaps Noctis is right, perhaps living in such a _reclusive_ manner has it’s drawbacks.

But Ignis doesn’t think he _needs_ anything that _out there_ has to offer. The trappings of modern _human_ life are entirely unappealing to him and he’s quite content with the friendships he currently maintains.

Noctis can be relied on to appear several times a week when his taste for human sweets made by inhuman hands grows too strong and Ignis has Gladio too - when his friend can be convinced to exist on two legs and not four.

“A _what_?” they ask.

“Don’t play _dumb_ with me, you’re obviously young but acting the fool will not excuse you from trespassing on my land.”

Physically they’re not _so_ young Ignis suspects, a fully grown adult whose mortal form is probably only a few years younger than his own but in _immortal_ terms they’re so obviously fresh Ignis is momentarily taken aback.

“I’m not playing. I’m just _actually_ dumb.”

Ignis frowns at them, taking in their form properly for the first time. He looks _soft_ , round and innocent faced with freckles over his pale cheeks. He’s _short_ , shorter than Ignis by almost a whole head and - Ignis inhales deeply - he’s _hurt_.

And unless he’s a werewolf just _moments_ after injury - which the lack of blood or signs of pain indicate he’s _not_ \- then the only way he can he hurt enough for Ignis to be able to _smell_ -

“You’re a baby,” Ignis says.

“I’m _twenty-two_ ,” he responds, face pinching tightly in anger, “You’re _rude_.”

“No I mean - when did you come into contact with a werewolf?”

“Uh. Never?” They shrug, looking a little fearful but mostly nonplussed.

Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales forcefully.

“ _When_ were you hurt?” Ignis asks.

The hand clutching their camera slips behind their back and he takes a half step back.

“I can smell your injury,” Ignis snaps, “There’s no use lying to me. Were you attacked?”

“Who are you?” he asks, “ _What_ are you?”

“My name is Ignis,” he introduces himself, “Though that’s hardly the matter at hand.”

He doesn’t respond for a long moment then meekly he offers, “Prompto.”

“Prompto,” Ignis says with forced calm, “Will you come back to the house with me?”

The least he can do is have this conversation _sitting_ down.

“The … house?”

“The house,” Ignis says, “ _My_ house.” He gestures over his shoulder to where the house is sheltered behind its copse of trees and manicured back garden. Gladio calls his taste _quaint_ but Ignis just thinks it’s _classic_.

“You live in the house?” Prompto asks, “The big house?”

“Did you think I lived in the disused foresters cabin?”

“I don’t know what I thought,” Prompto mutters. He raises his hand to scratch the end of his nose and his sleeve slips down his forearm a little exposing a clean white bandage.

“Follow me,” Ignis says, pitching his voice as low and soothing as he can manage but still feeling wholly surprised when Prompto shuffles into step behind him.

“Sorry I broke into your property,” Prompto mumbles, “Though I just came in through the hole in the fence so there wasn't much breaking involved.”

Ignis glances back at him over his shoulder and he looks _concerned_ , shy and confused.

“You really didn’t know?” Ignis asks.

Prompto shakes his head.

“How is your wound?” Ignis finds himself asking.

“Fine.”

Normally Ignis _likes_ quiet, he likes peace and his mostly solitary existence but there’s _something_ about this man - this _werewolf_ \- that compels him to keep talking, to draw out the sound of his voice.

“What were you doing here anyway?” Ignis asks.

Prompto sighs miserably, “I was looking for a vampire.”

Were Ignis not possessed of all the grace of the un-dead he might have fallen straight over.

“I don’t even _like_ werewolves,” Prompto goes on, seeming not to notice Ignis’ preoccupation, “Of all the rotten luck.”

-

Prompto, as it turns out, it something of a _paranormal investigator_ when he’s not making his money as a barista _and_ photographer. By the time they’re back inside, warm and comfortable in Ignis’ more casual sitting room, Prompto is chatting away a mile a minute. Compliments and exclamations fall easily from him - “Is that a _real_ fireplace? Does it burn _wood_?” - and for once in his life Ignis finds he’s not _annoyed_.

“Are you hungry?” Ignis asks him when Prompto finally pauses for breath.

With one exception Ignis isn't usually a _fan_ of shapeshifters. But Prompto is oddly _charming_ – bumbling and _honest_ in way that's oddly refreshing.

His wound is fine, Ignis had managed to ascertain, the shiny pink line that can only be possible with the rapid quick healing of lycanthropy taking hold of someone.

“I should probably go,” Prompto says, “I just - I can pay for any damages or anything. Though I may have to do it instalments.”

Prompto doesn't have _anyone_ that Ignis can ascertain. When he'd asked if Prompto needed to call parents or a partner or a _housemate_ he'd just shrugged and said it didn't matter.

“I’m not worried about _that_ ,” Ignis says. He shifts from his armchair to the other end of the couch Prompto is occupying.

Prompto doesn't have any _mortals_ to rely on. What are the chances there will be someone in his life equipped to help him deal with this new turn of events?

Ignis doesn't feel particularly well equipped himself but what choice does he have – he can't let this _Prompto_ run rampage. He might undermine what little secrecy his kind has left.

“I think you might need some help adjusting to your situation,” Ignis says.

“Adjust,” Prompto repeats, “To my new _situation_.”

Ignis goes to speak but -

“How do I even know you’re not _lying_ ,” Prompto blurts, “Maybe this is a joke. I’ve probably been wrong this whole time and none of this is actually real.” Prompto stands, “Sorry. Again. About trespassing.”

“Prompto,” Ignis says and he reaches for him, carefully making sure his skin doesn’t touch any of Prompto’s. Ignis knows he’s runs colder than the average mortal and the change taking over Prompto’s body is likely to make him _warmer_ for now throwing the what would be mild difference into sharper relief.

“And even if you’re not _lying_ ,” Prompto stresses, “How do you even _know_.”

“I’m not lying,” Ignis says sincerely, “Prompto I know because I can smell you.”

Prompto jerks his hand out of Prompto’s grasp and pulls his collar up over his nose and sniffing deeply. He flushes scarlet across his freckled cheeks and Ignis can’t help but let his eyes _linger_ over blush.

 _Beautiful_ , Ignis thinks.

“You don’t smell _bad_ ,” Ignis reassures him - though Ignis would normally be saying the opposite about werewolves, “I can tell the difference because I’m a vampire.”

Prompto doesn't smell bad. The werewolf musk is there, bitter and earthy, but there's something _fresher_ about him too – light and vibrant.

Not touching Prompto’s skin ends up being all for nought because a moment later Ignis has to jump to his feet to help him lower safely down onto the couch and Ignis feels compelled to test his pulse.

-

“I always wanted to meet a vampire,” Prompto says, close on Ignis’ heels.

“Is that so?” Ignis says tiredly. Though, honestly, he’s more _amused_ than frustrated. The enthusiasm is endearing - _Prompto_ is endearing.

Prompto had collapsed onto the couch and stared dumbly up at the ceiling for all of five minutes. Ignis had returned with coffee and toast from his kitchen to find Prompto recovered enough to start asking _questions_.

“What do you _eat_?”

“Do you want to eat _me_?”

“If I don’t smell bad do I smell _tasty_?”

“How old are you?”

“How long have you been a vampire?”

“Were you born this way?”

“If you tried to turn me what would happen?”

“Does sunlight hurt you? Is the garlic thing real?”

“Wow you have a mirror does that mean you have a reflection?”

“Do you sleep?” Prompto says as Ignis hands him a bundle of folded blankets from his linen cupboard.

“I do - I don’t have to but I do. And sunlight _does_ hurt me but my windows are made of special glass so as long as I don’t go outside I’ll be fine.”

“Wow,” Prompto mouths.

“ _You_ must be tired though,” Ignis says, “ _You_ are not naturally nocturnal. Lets get you set up on the couch.”

“Oh,” Prompto says, disappointment evident, “Okay. I mean - I can just go home.”

“No no,” Ignis says quickly, “There’s no need. You should get some rest.”

It’s _logical_ that Ignis should refrain from sending Prompto back out into the world just days away from his first transformation with no one from _this_ world to talk to but also, for some reason, Ignis just doesn’t want him to _go_.

Ignis isn’t sure he even wants Prompto to go to sleep - though he knows he _has_ to - because then the charming chatter will stop and his house will go back to being _quiet_.

Silent and still.

Ignis fluffs the pillows onto one end of his couch and Prompto slips out of his shoes to lay down along it.

“I thought you’d have more questions about you,” Ignis muses as he pulls the blankets over Prompto’s form. The blond nestles down underneath them looking small and simply _darling_.

“Oh,” Prompto says, “Is it complicated? Don’t I just go _rawr_ when the moon is full?” Prompto brings his hands up from beneath the blankets and hooks them into a terrible approximation of claws with a sleepy smile.

“I suppose not,” Ignis says and he allows his smile to blossom but tamps down his desire to smooth back Prompto’s hair.

Because _that_ is a ludicrous urge.

“In the morning we can go through the particulars and make a plan,” Ignis says.

“Okay,” Prompto says, breaking off into a yawn.

“Good night,” Ignis says.

Prompto falls asleep quickly, a half formed mumble on his lips about how comfortable Ignis’ couch.

What on _Eos_ did Ignis just get himself into?

Four days until the full moon – four days to prepare someone to have their body twisted and torn into another form and their personality _erased_ while the moon hangs in the sky.

What could possibly go wrong?

\- - -

Ignis unearths every book on lycanthropy held in his library, suddenly despairing at the fact he hadn’t held more of a vested interest in the matter before now.

Prompto almost walks right past the door to the library turning on his heel at the last moment to fill the door way.

“Hey,” Prompto says. He scratches at his jaw where a short growth of wiry blond hair had sprung up over night.

“Good morning,” Ignis says, “Did you rest well?”

Prompto shrugs, “I uh - actually don’t feel so hot. So I’m gonna bounce.”

Ignis stands and his chair scrapes noisily across the ground as it scoots back. Prompto winces.

“I think you should stay,” Ignis says, “There’s much I have -”

“And I think I should _leave_ ,” Prompto says - snaps really. Ignis barely knows him of course but this _shocks_ him more than he can possibly explain.

“Prompto,” Ignis says, “I don’t think you should do that.”

Prompto shrugs, “Do you think you can walk me back to my car? I don’t remember the way.”

“Prompto if you leave you might hurt someone,” Ignis says. It’s _manipulative_ sure, but Ignis isn't even lying.

Prompto’s shoulders slump.

“I might?”

Ignis nods and grabs the book he was flicking through before moving closer to him, gesturing Prompto away from the door frame and ushering him towards the kitchen. Food, surely, should get him to stay. Ignis is an _excellent_ cook, there's a reason eating is the one human habit he maintains.

“If you come across someone while transformed you’ll likely attack them, at least this first time and until you've learnt to control yourself,” Ignis says solemnly, “And I get the feeling you wouldn’t like that?”

Prompto shakes his head and settles into the kitchen chair Ignis holds out for him.

“I thought I’d just be a big wolf but _me_. Howl at the moon, chase a rabbit - all that fun stuff.”

Ignis laughs.

“Eventually perhaps,” Ignis says, “But at first the change will control you rather than the other way around.”

“Huh,” Prompto says, “This isn’t as fun as I’d always imagined it to be.”

Ignis hands him the book.

“Read through this and I’ll try and answer any questions you have?”

-

“How come you don’t have a TV?”

“Ive never needed one,” Ignis explains, "It doesn’t interest me.”

“Huh.”

“You know these weren’t the questions I’d imagined you asking.”

Prompto snorts.

“ _Okay_ ,” Prompto says, “Lets talk about how I’m half wolf, half man and only focus on the fun parts so I don’t have a panic attack.”

“ _Technically_ you’re _entirely_ werewolf,” Ignis tells him.

“But I’m a man now, and a I’ll be a wolf then,” Prompto says, “On _Thursday_ \- holy shit that's soon.”

“ _No_ , you are a werewolf now _and_ a werewolf then,” Ignis says, “And I know its soon but we have time to prepare you I promise.”

-

“Is that why everything is so _loud_?” Prompto asks.

“Yes,” Ignis says, “You’ll learn to control that too.”

“You really don’t have a heartbeat, huh?”

“No - though I can’t imagine your _human_ ears would have picked up on it if I did,” Ignis says.

Prompto shakes his head, “I can hear _mine_ but not yours. Honestly its kind of deafening.”

Ignis wishes there was something he could do to help.

Ignis barely remembers being a fledgling _vampire_ and he’s never been a young werewolf. He’d call Gladio but he’s really not in the mood for a lecture about how he and this werewolf are _not the same thing at all_.

\- - -

They pass another day together in mostly easy conversation, Ignis pacing restlessly for the six hours Prompto remains a sleep, striding back and forth in front of the door to the living room and trying to refrain from simply standing and watching him sleep.

That would be _strange_. Even if he thinks Prompto looks particularly handsome with his face lax and unworried in his sleep.

It’s a _relief_ when he wakes up again, talking Ignis’ ear off the moment he’s done in the bathroom.

Ignis sets some more of his sausages into his fridge to defrost, checking the steak he has out will be ready for Prompto’s dinner.

“I _like_ steak and stuff,” Prompto’s rambling at the table, “But like also I _love_ veggies. My friends says I’m weird but I can still eat them right? Like they won’t hurt me?”

“You _can_ ,” Ignis says, “And you certainly _should_. This is one of those things that will balance out again. Unfortunately you were bitten right before a full moon so you’re only getting to experience the roughest parts of your new life right away.”

“Gross,” Prompto says.

Ignis passes by him on the way to his dishwasher, reaching out to smooth down the adorable cow-lick on the back of his head without thinking. Ignis retracts his hand like he was electrocuted and Prompto flushes his prettiest pink yet.

Prompto blushes easily and Ignis can’t work out whether the its the male or the vampiric part of him that enjoys that most.

“So uh,” Prompto says nervously, fork tapping against his plate, “I’m gonna run home after breakfast.”

“ _Why_?” Ignis almost _gasps_.

“Well I need clean clothes,” Prompto says, “I know you say I don’t smell bad but one more day in these clothes oughta change that. Plus I wouldn’t mind grabbing my phone charger and stuff. I have work tomorrow and I understand I can’t go but I should call to let them know.”

“I’ll go get your things,” Ignis offers, “You should stay here.”

Ignis can’t shake the feeling that if Prompto leaves he won’t come _back_. It wouldn’t be _safe_. He might hurt someone, might hurt himself.

But most importantly he might not come back.

“I - well, I kind of wanted to make watch some TV too,” Prompto admits sheepishly, “Do a little gaming, you know.”

Ignis doesn't really.

“I can bring your TV too,” Ignis says, “Or buy one. Maybe you’re right, I should have one.”

“ _Ignis_ ,” Prompto says, “You’re sweet but you absolutely should not buy a TV only because of me.”

Ignis isn’t sure he’s ever been called sweet before.

“I just want you to be safe,” Ignis says.

“You mean for people to be safe _from_ me, right?”

“Of course,” Ignis answers.

Though he’s pretty sure that if Prompto _wanted_ to be the type of werewolf that terrorised the city each full moon Ignis wouldn’t do anything to stop him. In fact he’d probably help.

And he’d almost entirely given up the concept of humans as food himself several decades ago.

\- - -

Prompto’s apartment is small and _gross_ and Ignis _hates_ it.

There’s a duffel bag in the top of his wardrobe able to hold almost all of his clothes and Ignis piles everything into trying to be methodical and as non-invasive as possible as he empties drawers into the battered luggage.

It takes him three trips all told.

Prompto’s TV isn’t very big but there’s _several_ things attached to it and Ignis decides to just bring them all rather than guess which one might be most useful.

“Oh wow you bought my playstation,” Prompto says when he sees it.

Ignis isn’t sure what that is other than he’s _pretty_ sure he’s heard Noctis say it at some point too.

\- - -

Prompto’s fast asleep when Ignis hears his front door open and close without warning.

 _Noctis_.

Ignis rushes into the entryway to greet him. He _trusts_ Noctis of course, his friend genuinely _fond_ of mortals and more tolerant of werewolves than any other vampire Ignis has ever met but -

 _But_.

Ignis can’t bear the thought of something hurting Prompto while he’s under his care, not even accidentally, not even for _Noctis’_ benefit.

There’s a bag of groceries clutched in his arms, as is his usual tactic for getting Ignis to cook him something but he freezes dead when he sees Ignis has come to greet him.

Food spreads across ground when Noct drops the back, purple berries spilling from their container and rolling across the floor.

“Noctis -”

“Why is _Prompto_ here?” Noctis hisses, “Ignis what have you _done_?”

Noctis pushes past him, hastening towards where Prompto is laying down and Ignis is still reeling from the fact that Noctis _knows_ Prompto when his friend whirls around on the spot with his nostrils flared.

“Why does Prompto smell like a _werewolf_?”

“Noctis -”

“ _Fucking shit_. When did he get bitten? Iggy - is he okay, has he transformed yet?”

Ignis sighs, “A few days ago. He was fine when he fell asleep and _no_.”

Noctis’ face scrunches up and he _wilts_ , all but collapsing back against the wall like the strength just fled his legs. Which is _impossible_ because _his_ strength is not something that _can_ physically wane.

“Noctis how do you know Prompto?”

“We work at _Sacred Grounds_ together,” Noctis says, “He’s my _friend_. Ive said his name a hundred times do you not listen to me?”

“I tend not to _take in_ information about your _mortals_ because they are but fleeting and will be gone soon enough.”

Noctis scowls at him.

“Is Prom sleeping now?” he asks. Ignis nods. “On a _couch_? I swear to god Ignis if you’ve put him in one of your _coffins_ -”

“Of course I didn’t,” Ignis says quickly, “I’m not a monster. Well. You understand me.”

“Gentle reminder the fact you sleep in a coffin when it’s not necessary is dumb and hearkens back to an archaic time when we couldn’t integrate as well as we can now,” Noctis add.

“ _Noted_.”

“I can’t believe I _missed_ this,” Noctis complains, “I must have been distracted by the _blood_ smell and, ugh, those werewolves from Duscae were in - the ones that always smell like damp dog?”

Ignis nods in understanding and buries down his shudder. Prompto, at least, smells _fine_. Ignis is perhaps _too_ pleased by that.

“Is he staying here?” Noctis asks.

“I felt that best - he seems to be the sort that would become _upset_ were he to cross paths with a mortal and harm them.”

Noctis nods a little, breathing deeply.

“I’m gonna go buy you a couple beds,” he announces, “If Prompto’s gonna live here he needs a bedroom.”

“Noctis it’s almost midnight,” Ignis reminds him. Noctis shrugs.

“That really doesn’t matter any more. Honestly Ignis, the modern world. You should try it some time.”

-

Noctis returns at almost two am with a flatbed truck, two double mattresses and flat-pack bed frames.

“Where did you - why are there _two_?”

“Time to move out of the coffin Iggy, I promise its much more comfortable,” Noctis says.

“Sometimes I despise you,” Ignis says flatly but he lifts the first of mattresses off the truck anyway.

-

Ignis lays down for a while when Prompto has a shower that morning and _dammit_ but Noctis is right. It _is_ comfortable.

\- - -

_If Prompto’s gonna live here._

Ignis hadn’t really thought about it when Noctis had first said it.

 _Live_ here.

In the back of his mind he’d always assumed that Prompto would leave a few days after his transformation.

But is that what Ignis wants?

Ignis thinks of Prompto’s tiny apartment, thinks of how quiet this place will be once he’s gone.

No. He doesn’t want Prompto to go.

That thought is _terrifying._

\- - -

“You understand you could hurt _me_ ,” Ignis says.

Prompto shakes his head, “I figured you would be too strong.”

They spent some time together outside earlier.

Prompto suddenly feeling too cooped up, too confined as the full moon grew closer. Ignis had decided it was finally time to move that fallen tree and Prompto had stood on in _awe_ as he’d simply rolled it off towards the forestry building.

Ignis would be lying if he tried to say he didn’t enjoy the attention.

“I could defend myself, but hurting you would bother me,” Ignis admits, “And raw and untamed you may be beyond my abilities to either way.”

Prompto doesn’t say anything for a long time and Ignis worries this is _finally_ the thing that seems to break his enviable composure.

“Ignis, do you have somewhere safe for me to go?”

“I’ve been arranging the basement for you,” Ignis admits, “I would like to let you run around the property but -”

“There’s a hole in the fence,” Prompto says.

“Next month,” Ignis promises.

Prompto doesn’t argue that he won’t _need_ Ignis next month and Ignis nestles that knowledge away where his heart used to beat in his chest.

\- - -

“You’re not going to chain me up?”

Ignis reels back.

“Why would I do _that_?”

“Well the books say I’ll probably be violent and I wouldn’t want to damage your things,” Prompto admits. He’s barefooted in shorts and a t-shirt, pacing Ignis’ basement.

It’s mostly empty but Ignis had moved a couch and some other furniture down there just so it wasn’t so _empty_. Ignis cant bear the thought of leaving Prompto somewhere so _stark_.

Not when he is so vibrant.

Prompto’s been on edge all day. Pacing and fidgety. A little short tempered too but mostly Ignis thinks he’s scared.

“ _Things_ can be replaced, Prompto,” Ignis says.

Prompto collides with his chest so hard Ignis almost stumbles back, chubby arms encircling his waits and forehead pressing hard into his sternum.

“Thank you,” Prompto whispers. His voice sounds _wet_.

“Prompto -”

“You didn’t have to be so nice to me,” Prompto goes on, “I’m just a dumbass that snuck onto your land and got attacked by a werewolf. You should have just turfed me out but instead you gave me somewhere to stay and helped me learn what would happen.”

Ignis wraps his arms around Prompto’s shoulders and presses his nose into his fine hair. The _wolfy_ part of his scent is _sharper_ today, richer and more prominent but the rest of him is still there too. A little floral and citrus - the kind of sunshine that _doesn’t_ hurt Ignis.

“It’s been my pleasure,” Ignis says honestly.

“Ignis…”

Ignis strokes his palm over the back of Prompto’s head.

“When its all over - when I’m done. Will I still be me?”

“Of course you will,” Ignis says, “I’ll see to it.”

The alarm Ignis had set chimes upstairs and he knows he has to leave now. Even if it was _safe_ for Ignis to stay and watch he’d never invade Prompto’s privacy like that without invitation.

-

The noise comes and goes.

Prompto _screams_ when the sun completely sinks beneath the horizon. Even from a floor up Ignis hears it. He has to cling to the edge of his armchair to stay seated, turn the volume up on Prompto’s TV to try and drown it out.

It’s quiet for a while after that but it’s not _long_ before the crashing starts. And stops. And starts again.

Noctis turns up at two am, hands in his pockets and a nervous set to his brow.

“He doing okay?”

“Come on in,” Ignis says – grateful for the company in a way he can't express.

“I’ll leave before he’s, you know, _back_ in the morning. I just couldn’t bear being in town while his body is tearing itself apart,” Noct says.

Ignis nods, “We’ll have to tell him what you are at some point.”

“When he’s through this first hurdle,” Noctis says, “It’ll be nice not to hide from him at least.”

Noctis walks straight past the living room when Ignis turns into it.

“I’m getting a drink,” Noctis says, “You want something.”

“There’s some wine in the kitchen,” Ignis says, “Red please.”

“Blood or nah?”

Ignis laughs, “Just wine today.”

Ignis hears the fridge open but not close. An extended moment later Noctis calls, “Iggy why is there a huge slab of meat in your fridge?”

The _meat_.

Ignis had only just sat down but he rockets up off again in a nanosecond and all but _runs_ into the kitchen.

“That’s for Prompto,” Ignis explains, pulling the tray its sat on out of fridge.

“I - shouldn’t he _have_ it?” Noctis asks. He pops the cork on the wine bottle and Ignis is suddenly too distressed to even care when he takes a long draw straight from it.

“Yes,” Ignis says and he shifts it more securely in his hold.

“You’re not going to take it to him,” Noctis says.

“I _have_ to,” Ignis says, “He’ll be distressed - in _pain_ without it.”

The literature is _very_ clear on that. A werewolf _must_ feed during their transformation or the toll of the change could _kill_ them.

“I’ll wait at the top of the stairs,” Noctis says slowly, “In case it goes…badly.”

“Thank you,” Ignis breathes.

It’s _quiet_ as Ignis waits for Noctis to open the door that leads down to the basement and even when he _listens_ he can only hear faint wet snuffles and heavy breathing.

“He sounds calm,” Noctis whispers.

He’s _not_ calm, not when Ignis appears at the bottom of the stairs. He appears from a dim corners, snarling and growling crouching low on all four of his long limbs.

Ignis knew what Prompto would look like objectively, knew he’d have that classic long face and if his lips would likely be pulled back over his sharp teeth to _snarl_. Prompto seems _bigger_ like this, impossibly larger and longer than _Prompto_ has any right to be and the pleasant softness of his plump form twisted and lessened over the cruelly lean muscles in his limbs. His vicious claws are longer than his human fingers, scratching deep gouges into the wooden floor.

There _are_ similarities though, obvious ones. His fur is a pale yellow, soft and messy in the same way it grows from Prompto’s head; _speckled_ with darker spots, small and random all across his body and Ignis knows now without a doubt that the lovely freckles on Prompto’s face extend across the whole of his body.

And then there’s his _eyes_.

The shape is wrong, the pupils set different and dilated but they’re _blue_ the same blue that Prompto carries always, impossibly deep and just touching violet.

Ignis puts the tray down as quickly as he can, sliding it towards the wolf currently controlling his friend in the hopes to make it clear this is an _offering._ Prompto _dives_ for it, bending even lower over it as though hiding it from Ignis’ view but he doesn’t start eating just growls, low and continuous.

“Prompto,” Ignis says softly.

He twitches, ear flicking back.

“Prompto,” Ignis says again, raising his hand palm out flat and Prompto inches forward, nose twitching.

“It’s _me_ , Prompto.”

Prompto’s face softens, lips covering his teeth so his expression is almost serene - curious rather than fearful and Ignis holds his breath as Prompto pushes forward to press his nose against Ignis’ palm.

It’s wet and cold like Ignis imagines a dog's might be but only last a second before Prompto is pulls away. The tray goes with him in an awful ear splitting _screech_ across the ground and the wolf vanishing into the darkest corner so he’s almost completely hidden from view.

“Well?” Noctis asks when Ignis finishes climbing the stairs again and the door closed behind him again. Ignis slides the bolt back across.

“He’s fine. I think - I think he recognised me.”

“Huh,” Noctis says and he takes another swig from the wine bottle, offering it to Ignis afterwards like he’s doing him a massive favour. Ignis refuses.

“He probably has a crush on you,” Noctis says and heads back to the living room without another word, leaving Ignis reeling all over again.

\- - -

Ignis waits until a full hour after sunrise before going back downstairs.

Prompto’s asleep, so dead to the world he doesn’t even twitch when Ignis lays a blanket over his nude form. It can’t be comfortable laying amongst the remains of Ignis' couch but Ignis doesn’t have the heart to wake him.

-

It’s mid afternoon when Prompto appears. He scampers past the library wrapped in the blanket and beelines up the stairs. Ignis listens as the shower runs for _much_ longer than normal but he doesn’t mind. Prompto could use all the water in the city and Ignis wouldn’t care.

Ignis moves into the living room and turns on Prompto’s TV, flicking through the channels until he finds a programme where the background music doesn’t want to make him fill his ears with cotton wool to avoid it.

Prompto comes into the room in pyjamas with his hair still damp. He looks sheepish and awkward. Maybe a little afraid.

“Sorry about your couch,” he says, “And your chair. And you _floor_.”

“It’s no problem,” Ignis says. He pats the couch next to him and to his _delight_ Prompto settles beside him, right up along his side, wonderfully warm and soft.

They watch without talking and Ignis is on the cusp of offering to get up and fetch Prompto some of the food he’d stress cooked all day - Prompto must be _starving_ \- when Prompto turns to him and asks:

“So I have to do that every full moon?”

“At first yes. Though I understand as you learn to control it and your body adjusts it’ll become easier. Less painful. Other lycans I know look _forward_ to it.”

“Huh. Cool,” Prompto murmurs.

The room is silent for a moment. Then -

“But I’m cute right? A cute dog?”

Ignis sputters, “You’re not a _dog_ at all.”

“Okay but if I was you’d want to pet me, right?” Prompto says, “If you were a dog person.”

There’s another beat of silence and then Prompto asks, with enormous gravity, “You _are_ a dog person, right?”

The answer is no. No Ignis is _not_ a dog person. But for some reason he finds himself saying -

“Of course.”

Ignis thinks he might be in even more trouble than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to write more of this. I am not done playing here. Not by a long shot. 
> 
> I mean. I haven't even made them smooch yet. PLUS. We gotta know what's going on inside Prompto's head, right?

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter here [@Ginger_El_](https://twitter.com/Ginger_El_) 💛💜🧡🖤


End file.
